


My Fravit

by thatsoccercoach



Series: Which Door? (Fluffy Fraser Fics) [76]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Family, Fluff, Speech Delay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-16 22:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20610473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsoccercoach/pseuds/thatsoccercoach
Summary: The time has come to admit it. Willa Fraser, age two, just doesn't talk.





	My Fravit

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you to the amazing happytoobserve for the help and cheerleading!

Claire Fraser hadn’t doubted herself (in this regard, anyway) until the moment their paediatrician asked the question she had heard before, multiple times. 

“And does she say at least twenty words?”

Never had the phrase sounded so ominous. Though she tried not to compare her children to each other in ways that made one seem less capable or talented or _ less anything _ than the others, visions of her other children flashed through her mind’s eye at light speed.

Faith had spoken later than expected, but once she started, her speech was clear as a bell. It was obvious in her case that she had spoken when she needed to and had been content to silently observe for a long while. Brianna had spoken _ much _ earlier (and much more passionately.) Their little redhead had gleefully parroted her big sister, had greeted every dog they saw with a shouted “Heyyo dog!” and had yelled at Murtagh when he babysat and sang the wrong lullaby at bedtime. Fergus, their only boy, talked plenty. _ Weren’t boys the ones supposedly slower to pick up on these things? _

Just moments ago he had shared his vocabulary during his two-year check up.

“I’m going to use this to listen to your heart, Fergus. See? Just like this.” The doctor patiently put the stethoscope against Willa’s doll. “Do you want to try?”

“No. I non’t try,” pouted the toddler. “I non’t like it.”

“Fergus,” Claire chided gently, trying not to push him too fast but knowing full well that he had seen her with a stethoscope many times and knew exactly what it was. “It’s just like mine. Remember?”

“Why, Mama?”

“Why what, lovey?”

“Why on me. Non’t like it on me,” he repeated insistently.

“Maybe your sister will go first,” the doctor switched strategies and Claire quickly swept up their littlest daughter, sat her down in front of them, and watched as Willa disinterestedly had her heart checked.

“Lilla non’t like it.” Fergus told them. Willa sat placidly, observably calm in spite of her brother’s proclamation that she didn’t care for the process.

“But Willa knows that it must be done and she is finished already,” Claire attempted. “Yay, Willa!”

Willa clapped and then climbed into her mama’s lap for a snuggle.

“Go, Gus,” she demanded, pointing imperiously to the seat she had just vacated.

That was it. The only two words Willa had spoken the entire appointment. In all honesty, they were probably the only words she’d spoken all day. 

Ultimately the paediatrician suspected that there was nothing wrong. Willa was bright, she seemed to hear things quite well, she interacted and responded with facial expressions or actions. She just didn’t talk that much. Or at all.

"We could pursue a formal evaluation." Claire said later as she and Jamie stood at the island in the middle of the kitchen watching the littlest Frasers as if they were specimens in a science experiment. It was something Claire deliberately avoided; making her family into patients. 

On the floor Willa and Fergus were playing with a set of farm animals. Faith and Brianna had joined them (fully aware that suppertime was quickly approaching) and animals were prancing all across the hardwood.

“But if we choose to wait, we’ll just be guessing that she’s fine. We could be missing something and I would be awful if we just _ assumed _that all was well and shortchanged Willa in regards to a potential time-sensitive intervention.”

Jamie slid his hand across his wife’s shoulders, settling finally with his hand around her upper arm, her shoulders protected by his own arm. “I ken that ye dinna want to subject her to testing if things are fine, that ye wouldna want her to be some experiment. But this isna about investigatin’ some wee quirk of personality.” He spun her to look at him, eyes serious and reassuring. “This is in Willa’s best interest, figuring this out afore she gets too old and falls further behind. The worst that happens is tha’ we discover she’s just silent because she kens the other bairns will speak for her or we find something we can work on.”

“I suppose,” Claire exhaled loudly. “I just hate the thought that we ignored something as much as I hate the thought of senselessly pursuing testing only to find nothing.”

“If we find nothin’ we’ll just be reassured that all is well. Peace of mind on our parts _ does _ help the bairns too. They sense our emotions,” he reminded.

She knew it all too well, that the children fed off her and Jamie.

“So,” she paused, clasping her hands together and watching the children. “We’ll do this. Just to rule things out.” She nodded emphatically and they continued to watch for a moment, pasta on the stove boiling gently and veggies drizzled in olive oil roasting in the oven.

Faith held up a white horse, trotting it across the floor, making a whinnying noise. And Willa cracked.

Plopping down on her nappy-covered bum, she let out a wail as tears streamed from her eyes. Brianna and Fergus looked at Faith, appalled, as clearly _ she _ had somehow prompted this mayhem. Faith herself looked both puzzled and horrified, knowing that for some reason her actions had triggered the fallout, but having no clue _ how. _And Claire did what she always did, intervening when necessary.

“Willa, love,” she knelt before the sobbing child. “What is it? Why are you so upset?” She couldn’t say why she did it, knowing that they wouldn’t get an answer.

“Is my fravit!” Willa shrieked in distress, pointing to the white horse. 

Faith’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, looking at the horse and then her sister. “But…” she began, then swallowed her words, thinking hard. “So, do you want to trade then, Willa?”

She wiggled the while horse in front of her little sister and pointed at the dappled one that the distraught Fraser currently possessed. Willa nodded insistently, sniffling pathetically. The swap was made, the crisis averted.

And throughout the evening Willa made clear her opinion on several matters. 

At dinner. "Beans, no."

When offered a bit of fruit at bedtime snack. "'Nanas is good!"

Randomly, while being carried upstairs for bed. "Horse is...I like it!" 

And finally, while saying goodnight to her siblings. "Fai' is my fravit."

Faith beamed as she dangled from her da's arms, over the edge of the crib to tell her littlest sister goodnight.

"I love you, Willa," she crooned, stroking the fine curls covering the toddler's head.

"I loves you, Lilla!" Fergus shouted from his crib, eliciting a chorus of giggles from his sisters.

"Love yous!" Willa replied, sleepily. "All," she clarified, waving her hands about amd pointing to her family.

"Lights out, Frasers," Claire said, ushering Jamie, Faith, and Bree to the door and closing it behind them.

"Sleep’s not fravit," they heard through the closed door.


End file.
